A Friend in Need
by Wilusa
Summary: Amanda's Watcher comes to her aid after a tragic accident. But someone else is also in need of help...that neither of them can give. An AU Raven season finale.


DISCLAIMER: _Highlander, Raven_ and their canon characters are the property of Davis/Panzer Productions; no copyright infringement is intended.

_**Note:**__ This story was written in 1999, in response to a challenge in Rysher's __**Raven**__ Forum for fan authors to write fics based on our own season-finale ideas, before we knew what would be in the real one. I think I was the only author who gave it a try. Personally, I still like this __**idea**__ better than the one used in the actual finale._

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**I**

Amy Thomas heard the scream and broke into a run, no longer caring whether her assigned Immortal saw her. She knew her father counted this Immortal, Amanda, as a close friend. And that blood-curdling shriek had definitely been Amanda's.

Soon the decaying castle loomed over her, a ghostly silver-gray in the moonlight. _Just the atmosphere for blood-curdling shrieks._ Unfortunately, the light wasn't enough to keep her from twisting her ankle - twice - and taking one hard fall on the stony ground. But she got to her feet and stumbled on.

She rounded a corner and stopped dead in her tracks. The distraught Amanda was kneeling beside Nick Wolfe, who lay in a crumpled heap at the base of the castle wall. A frighteningly high wall. If he'd fallen from that...

Amanda looked up, wild-eyed.

Amy heard herself ask, "Wh-what happened?"

"Damn building's falling apart. Cornice gave way, and the rappelling hook came loose. I fell as far as he did, but I landed on top of him -" Belatedly, Amanda seemed to realize she was talking to a stranger who'd appeared out of nowhere. "Who in blazes are you?"

"I'm -"

"Oh God, I know. My new Watcher, right? You people are like mosquitoes."

"Uh, yes." Since her cover was already blown, Amy made a snap decision to tell all. "I'm Amy Thomas. Joe Dawson's daughter."

_Joe Dawson's daughter._ First time she'd said it.

Hopefully, it would earn her a warmer reception.

But Amanda paid her no heed. Nick had stirred and moaned, and she was once again oblivious to all else.

Only Amy heard familiar sounds overhead. Whirring, beating. She looked up in time to make out a dark shape rising from the battlements, its bulk blotting out the stars. The chopper hovered briefly, then flew off in the general direction of Paris.

She cleared her throat and said tentatively, "Those drug dealers you were after? They just took off. Literally."

Amanda grunted acknowledgment, then apparently felt more was required. "Thank God for small favors. I shouldn't have screamed. They could have come out with guns blazing."

Nick opened his eyes, attempted to speak, and began coughing. Amanda held him, trying to soothe him. "Just lie still, don't talk. Try to relax."

"I have my cell phone," Amy ventured. "I can call for an ambulance, if you haven't."

Amanda's head jerked up. "Oh, yes!" Her tear-filled eyes widened, misery giving way to shocked realization. "I have my phone, too - I should have called already. I'm not thinking straight. Naturally, way out here, no one else has reported it. Try to get an ambulance from the nearest town, _please!_"

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**II**

Nick Wolfe knew he was having a nightmare.

It had to be a nightmare.

And yet, it seemed this particular nightmare had been going on forever...

There was no pain at the moment. That would change as soon as he moved, but he'd be damned if he'd lie in bed until one of his aides showed up. They never had the patience to give him just the amount of help he needed. No, they'd ignore his wishes and what was left of his dignity, and lift him like a sack of potatoes.

So he struggled to the edge of the bed and "dangled." The pain had returned, right on cue, taking his breath away.

He rested for a few minutes, then steeled himself for the next exertion, getting from bed to wheelchair. He could hear that cranky aide Lee scolding him: "If you end up on the floor one of these days, you'll just have to stay there till someone comes. And if you break more bones and have to be immobile, the next bout with pneumonia will do you in."

He hoisted his frail body into the chair, then sat very still, waiting for the pain to subside. He _would not_ risk addiction to painkillers... After about five minutes, he began slowly maneuvering the chair toward the bathroom.

They'd urged him to use a motorized chair. "You should save what little strength you have in those arms for the transfers." But he'd known that if his arms wouldn't move a wheelchair, they'd be no good with a walker, either. He'd been determined to walk again, so he'd driven himself to strengthen those muscles.

Now, though, more and more often, the small voice in his head asked, _What's the use?_

He slowly, painfully accomplished the bathroom transfers - first onto the toilet, then the seat in his shower. Showered and dried himself, though not as well as an aide could have. He still had less than full use of his arms.

He rested, shaved, rested. Then wheeled back into the bedroom and tackled the most daunting task: dressing. He tried not to look at his body, a crazy-quilt pattern of scars from surgical incisions. Even with the aid of a special device for pulling his socks on without bending, and shoes that didn't have to be tied, he was exhausted when he finished and settled himself in the chair again.

He'd thought of transferring to the walker and doing some walking. If his wobbly shuffle could be called that. But after one feeble attempt to stand, he knew it was beyond his strength.

_What's the use?_

Doctors and therapists alike said he'd never progress from the walker to crutches or crutch canes. His balance wasn't good enough.

Maybe he could prove them wrong. Again. But why bother? Even with crutches or canes, he'd never be able to walk any significant distance. Or at a normal pace. Or on rough terrain. The walking he'd accomplished - the only kind he ever would accomplish - was of no practical use, nothing but a "look-what-I-can-do" boost for his ego.

At least he had work, computer research for Bert Myers. That was genuinely important...and not only because Bert or an able-bodied operative would otherwise have to make time to do it. Nick knew he was far better at the job than anyone else Bert could have assigned. He felt useful when he was working. And sometimes, when he'd spent hours online, sitting still enough to be pain-free, he could almost..._forget_.

But then, invariably, Amanda would appear at his door. And plunge him into new depths of depression. Why couldn't she understand that it was agony for him to be seen like this, remembered like this?

He sighed, then shifted slightly in the wheelchair, in a vain attempt to find a more comfortable position. His reward was a wave of excruciating pain. As usual, he wasn't even sure where it originated. This time he nearly blacked out.

But the pain gradually eased, and the clock face swam into view. Only 8:00 a.m. His aide would arrive soon; depending on who it was today, he might either be praised or bawled out for having done all he had. He himself was beginning to regret it. Just 8:00 a.m., and he was so fatigued he could barely hold his head up...

He drifted off.

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And woke with a start, to pain and cold and renewed awareness that he was in a _very_ uncomfortable position.

_It_ _**had**__ been a nightmare!_

But reality was no better. He knew at once that he was still on the hard ground where he'd fallen, miles from anywhere. A tensing of his muscles, in an instinctive attempt to get up, told him his body was a shattered ruin.

That "nightmare" had probably been a best-case scenario.

Dimly aware of women's voices, he summoned the strength to open his eyes. Lids so heavy, so heavy...and it was so dark! But he could make out a grayish-white blob. The moon? Or...a face?

A face. The blob resolved itself into Amanda's face.

He tried to speak to her, and something happened in his throat, or maybe his chest. Suddenly he was coughing, choking, wracked by paroxysms of pain beyond all previous imagining. Her face became a blur again.

But he felt her touch, heard her voice. "Just lie still, don't talk. Try to relax."

Then an unwelcome intrusion. Another woman. "I have my cell phone..."

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**III**

Amy fumbled in her pocket for the phone, glad she'd spoken up. But her hand was shaking so badly she dropped it. Precious moments wasted...

"Sorry. Don't worry, Amanda, I'll get it." She dropped to her knees, groping for it in the meager light.

"There!" She caught a glimpse, and reached for it.

Just as another hand closed around it.

A hand that wasn't Amanda's.

"Nick!" She gulped, then tried gently to take it from him. "I'm a friend, Nick. That's my cell phone, and I need it to make a call. Please let go.

"Nick? Do you want to hold on to something? Here, take my hand. I'll stay right here and hold your hand, just let me have the phone..." If she couldn't use it with one hand, she could easily pass it to Amanda.

But Nick wasn't about to let go.

"What's the matter?" Amanda leaned closer, sounding panicky.

"He won't let go of the phone." By now Amy had given up on the gentle approach, and was trying frantically to pry his fingers loose.

The man had a grip like a vise.

"Th-that's okay," Amanda said uncertainly. "We can...we can use mine." She began rummaging in her pockets.

But just as she was wailing, "I lost it when I fell!," Nick gasped out a single word.

"No."

"Please, Nick!" With Amanda searching desperately for her own phone, Amy decided to keep tugging at the one in Nick's hand. "You know you're injured. We need the phone to call for an ambulance. The sooner we get help, the sooner you'll be more comfortable."

_"No."_

Amy shivered, from more than the chill air. His eyes were open, and he was looking directly at her. She realized, with a wrenching certainty, that he was lucid and knew exactly what he was doing.

Amanda, at a little distance, let out a curse, just as a wavering beam of light appeared at the edge of Amy's vision. She called to Amy, "One thing I didn't lose when I fell was my flashlight. About time I thought of it!" Moments later she was back, cell phone in hand.

Amy looked up in relief. "Good. We can use that."

Amanda began trying to punch numbers into it, awkwardly juggling phone and flashlight.

But Nick protested again. "Amanda! _Don't._"

Amanda sank down on her haunches, looking as confused and frightened as any mortal would be. "Nick? We're in no danger now, if you're worried about the light. I'm just going to call for an ambulance -"

"No!"

"You...you don't know what you're saying..." But a horrible knowledge was dawning in Amanda's eyes.

"I...do." He choked, then was seized by another spasm of half-coughing, half-retching. Spat up blood.

Amy tried again to grab her phone from him.

It seemed welded to his hand.

His eyes had gone out of focus, but came back quickly. Breathing in labored wheezes, he was still determined to prevent that phone call.

"Amanda. Let...me...die."

"No, Nick!"

"Listen. Damage is...too bad to fix. Be a...broken old man...in my thirties. Don't want that."

"Nick, you can't be sure it will turn out that way! And...and...even if you can't do all the things you're used to doing, you can still have a worthwhile life..."

Amy cut in. "Nick. My father lost both legs in Vietnam. When it first happened, he probably wanted to die. But he's gone on to lead a good life. A full, active life. I wouldn't exist if he hadn't gone on living."

"That's strange," said Amanda. "A close friend of mine lost both legs in Vietnam, too. Joe Dawson. Nick, you know Joe Dawson!"

"Joe Dawson _is_ my father, Amanda," Amy explained. "I tried to tell you that before, but you were too upset to hear."

"Sorry." Their eyes met, and the beginning of a bond was formed.

But that was of no help in dealing with the immediate problem.

"This is...my...decision," Nick insisted. "My...choice. Let me go, Amanda!"

Amanda made a soft sound that was close to a whimper.

For a long moment, she hesitated.

Then, with her eyes fixed on Nick's face, she slowly put the phone in her pocket.

Amy gasped. "No, Amanda! We can't do this. We can't just sit here and watch a man die!"

Amanda turned to her. "Do you think I want to? I'm sick over it. But...if he feels this strongly..."

"If he lives, he'll feel differently later."

_"No,"_ Nick repeated through clenched teeth.

"You can't be sure of that, Amy. If he seemed out of his head, delirious, I wouldn't listen to him. But he's rational, and it is his choice to make."

Amy shrank back, trembling. She thought of making a grab for Amanda's phone, then saw the Immortal's hand was still in her pocket. Amanda was clutching one phone, Nick the other.

She gave up.

But she wished she could hide deep inside herself, not see what was to come.

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It wasn't as bad as she'd feared.

No last-minute panic from Nick, no hysterics from Amanda.

Nick seemed at peace throughout his remaining hour of semi-consciousness, then slipped into a coma. Amanda sat quietly, strong and stoic, cradling his head in her lap.

At 2:00 a.m., four hours after Amy had arrived, Nick stopped breathing.

Surely Amanda had noticed? She gave no sign.

Amy decided to say nothing. Allow her time to grieve.

To grieve, or...or honor his memory in her own way.

Or whatever she was doing.

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But by 3:00 a.m. Amanda had shed not a tear, said not a word. As far as Amy could see, she had moved not a muscle.

The scene had taken on a surreal quality. Amanda's black outfit, like Nick's, was virtually indistinguishable from the night that enveloped them. Only her pale, immobile face and ash-blond hair were clearly visible, and they seemed a floating vision, as insubstantial as moonbeams.

Or an eerily spotlighted Isolde holding the dead Tristan in her arms, awaiting the _Liebestod..._

Amy gave herself a shake. _Back to the real world. We can't sit here_ _forever._

"Amanda," she said gently, "I think you realize Nick has been dead for quite a while. About an hour. I'm going to phone and get someone to come, okay?"

"No. Don't do anything."

"I...I don't understand. Do you want me to help you move the body, take it back to Paris in one of our cars?"

"No."

Amy's concern was growing by the minute. "Okay. I can see your not wanting to call anyone local. Hard to explain what you were doing here, right?

"But we can call Bert Myers. You have a number for him, don't you? Even if he's not in France, he can send someone with a more suitable vehicle. And he'll know how to explain the death, with Nick being one of his people -"

"We're not going to call Myers!" At least Amanda was becoming more animated.

"Let me call the Watchers, then." _Though God knows what I'll say._

"Amy." Amanda wore a half-smile now, and her eyes were shining. "Don't do anything. Just wait."

"Wait for what?"

_"Wait!"_

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They waited. For another hour. Amanda seemed expectant - not happy, but quietly confident something was going to happen. Apparently, something good.

What? No one knew they were there, not even Myers.

And then, suddenly, Amy understood. There could be only one answer. _Nick Wolfe was a pre-Immortal. Amanda's waiting for him to come back to life. _

Amy wanted to jump up and down, shout for joy, burst into song. Grab Amanda and do a jig with her. Everything was all right! Nick was about to be reborn into a wonderful new life!

_But Joe - my father - said Amanda had told him Nick __**wasn't**__ a pre-Immortal._

Amanda had lied. She didn't seem to like or trust Watchers in general, only Joe. Maybe she'd lied because she thought his oath would force him to report that pre-Immortal.

Or maybe she'd told Joe the truth, but sworn him to secrecy, and he'd lied to Amy.

Content with that explanation, Amy settled herself against the wall, beaming. She'd follow Amanda's lead, not make a joyful noise at this point. Perhaps there was a certain etiquette in these situations.

_I'm glad she hasn't sent me away. I'm going to witness the birth of a new Immortal! Has any Watcher __**ever**__ seen that?_

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5:00 a.m.

_Nick obviously didn't know. Why didn't she tell him, at least when he was dying?_

No problem. Immortals had so many rules, Holy Ground being only the best-known and most universally honored... Amanda had probably felt bound by some quasi-religious prohibition against telling a pre-Immortal the truth.

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6:00 a.m.

_But why was she as anxious as I was to save his life, until he made her respect his wishes? He seemed the ideal age to become Immortal, at the peak of his physical powers. Why didn't she welcome the idea from the start?_

Maybe mortals couldn't judge the ideal age. Maybe Amanda thought that if he became Immortal in a 70-year-old body, headhunter types wouldn't perceive him as a threat, and he'd have a longer life.

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6:30 a.m.

Amanda had become visibly nervous.

Amy was sitting up straight, with no trace of a smile on her face.

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7:00 a.m.

Amanda was pacing restlessly. "This isn't right. This isn't the way it's supposed to be."

There was a cold, hard knot in the pit of Amy's stomach. _Dear God, no, no..._

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7:30 a.m.

Amanda, tears streaming down her cheeks, began shaking the dead body. "_Nick! __**Nick!**_ What's the matter with you? It's not supposed to take this long!"

"Stop it, Amanda! He can't hear you." Amy was shedding tears of her own. She wanted to run, screaming. But instead, she hugged the stricken Immortal and lovingly coaxed her into laying the corpse back on the ground. _Joe Dawson, have you ever had to cope with a horror like this?_

Amanda sagged against her new friend's shoulder, so ravaged by grief that she almost looked her age. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this!" She collapsed, sobbing, in Amy's arms.

"I know, I know. Go ahead, cry, let it out."

_Sooner or later, Amanda, you'll have to face the truth. You must have loved him more than you or anyone else realized. You've been deluding yourself because you couldn't accept his death._

_But in your heart, you know. You've known all along. __**Nick Wolfe was never a pre-Immortal.**_

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**IV**

Nick didn't know whether he was dead, or still hovering on the brink.

But he did know he was hard-pressed to avoid boredom.

He'd never thought much about an afterlife, had no particular expectations. Maybe that was the problem.

He'd found himself plodding through a luminous silver mist that veiled a seemingly barren landscape. After walking for perhaps an hour, he'd thought, _Some hills and gullies would make this at least slightly more interesting._

With the next step he took, he'd toppled into an unseen gully.

That _was_ a distinct improvement. He welcomed the challenge of negotiating difficult terrain whose details were obscured by the mist. But he couldn't give the illusion high marks for realism. He'd quickly learned falls didn't hurt.

_Falls didn't hurt._

He could hardly complain about that.

Now he was scaling a barely-visible cliff face, knowing it didn't really matter whether he found the handholds and footholds he needed. Except that it mattered to _him_, because he was, always had been, a perfectionist.

He gritted his teeth, trying to remember how he'd been fatally injured. He'd been scaling a castle wall with Amanda, a step behind her. They'd been in a hurry, but the rappelling gear was definitely strong enough to support both of them. And he remembered testing it, pulling hard, to make sure the hook was secure overhead. If it hadn't been, they wouldn't have gotten far enough for a fall to be serious.

He hadn't heard gunshots. Could he possibly have skipped securing his fastenings, then lost his hold on the rope, when he'd been doing that sort of thing for years? He hated to think he'd caused the accident himself. Destroyed his future, inflicted needless grief on Amanda, short-changed all the people he might have helped.

Why did he think of life that way, in terms of helping people? Must have been the police training.

His right hand found a new hold on the cliff face. He stretched upward, groping with the right foot...yes! There was a suitable foothold. He pulled himself higher, sent the left hand on a new exploratory mission.

_Think about the actual fall._ A part of his mind protested, but he forced himself to relive it, even as he continued methodically scaling the cliff in the here and now.

He didn't remember losing his grip. Just suddenly plummeting down.

_Don't stop. Keep going, up the damn cliff. The damn imaginary cliff._

He remembered the impact. There had been no pain at that moment, no pain at all. Just a stunning blow. Mind-numbing shock.

And then a second, lesser impact.

Something landing on top of him. A "something" that could only have been Amanda.

That thought brought him up short. Had her landing on him caused further injury? Anything that would prey on her mind, make her blame herself?

No, he was sure it hadn't. For him, hitting the ground had spelled The End Of The World As He Knew It. And Amanda was intelligent and realistic enough to understand that.

He heaved a sigh of relief. In fact, he was glad his body had been there to cushion her landing.

But if she'd fallen too, the whole rappelling rig must have come tumbling down. The rope had been strong, the hook initially secure...so the fault had to lie with the _building_. Remembering its age and condition, he could easily believe that.

He hadn't done himself in!

As he scrambled to the top of the cliff, sporting a triumphant grin, he fancied the silver mist was glowing as never before.

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With that question settled, he continued his solitary hike, wondering if this was how he'd spend eternity.

After discovering he could conjure up hills and gullies, he'd tried for more. To no avail. No ersatz Acapulco or Rome. No romp in the tub with Amanda.

He knew why. He couldn't have believed in any of them, not for a minute, and thus couldn't have enjoyed them. Some people might have been satisfied, but not he. So he was stuck with the hills and gullies, which at least afforded him some pseudo-exercise.

An eternity here, loving and missing Amanda...

A bleak prospect.

But infinitely better than the future he'd experienced in his "nightmare." He was convinced a higher Power had granted him that vision, a true one, to permit him to make an informed choice. Now he offered a silent prayer of thanks.

He felt no pangs of regret, let alone guilt, over having decided to end his life by refusing medical assistance. Though he certainly regretted the issue's having arisen so soon.

He had always wanted to lead a full, active life to the very end, then go out in a blaze of - glory might have been too much to ask, but at least a blaze of gunfire. No lingering illness, no gradual decline into old age. He'd expected to die a cop, in the line of duty, in his hale and hearty fifties. After he quit the force, the fantasy had changed only slightly: it came to include dying in Amanda's arms.

Despite all the risks he took, he never let himself think about the possibility of a crippling injury.

He shuddered now as he recalled the aged Charlie Johnson reminiscing about his own youthful fling with Amanda, telling him, "I was you." At the time, he had vowed silently, _I'll never be __**you.**_ But if he hadn't stopped the women from making that phone call, he would have wound up more feeble and decrepit, in his thirties, than Charlie was in old age.

The horror of that narrowly escaped future still haunted him. The sudden loss of almost everything that made his life worth living. Permanent invalidism, pain, humiliation, loss of dignity. Amanda standing by him through thick and thin - unable to see she was torturing him.

Of course, if the nightmare had become real, he knew how it would have ended.

_He_ would have ended it. With a gun.

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He'd had a good life, crammed more into it than most people did in twice as many years. To cap it, he'd had the thrill of knowing and loving Amanda. He wouldn't trade that memory for another half-century without her.

_But it's strange how reaching the end of the road can change your thinking..._

After he learned the truth about Amanda, he had, of course, wondered if he might be what she was. How could anyone know about Immortals and _not_ wonder?

So he'd asked her.

He remembered her exact words. "You most certainly aren't, and don't you forget it! I don't want you forming bad habits. Remember, if anyone's going to stop a bullet, it has to be me."

Later, she'd told him more about pre-Immortals. Explained that they knew all their lives they were somehow different. They never contracted any illness more serious than a cold, never experienced tooth decay. Even their injuries, prior to the one that caused the first death, healed more quickly than other people's - though not quickly enough to attract attention.

At the time, he had been glad he wasn't a pre-Immortal. It wasn't sour grapes. In his eyes, Immortality wasn't worth enduring the drawbacks: always feeling like an outsider, never being able to live in one place longer than fifteen years or so, constantly having to worry about some freak trying to take your head.

Now, with his life cut unexpectedly short, those "drawbacks" seemed a small price to pay...

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Suddenly, light cut through the swirling vapors. A glint of light so brilliant he instinctively shielded his eyes.

A gleaming..._sword?_

He'd been striding through the mist, hands in pockets, lost in thought. Unconsciously knowing he wouldn't fall into a chasm if he didn't want to.

But now, suspended in mid-air before him, was a shimmering sword!

Then he realized someone was holding it, as if to bar his way. A man slowly materialized out of the mist.

_Did I think about head-hunting Immortals and create one?_

No. A good look at the weary face and anxiety-filled eyes told him this was no creation of his, but a real man. Living or dead, mortal or Immortal, he wouldn't venture to guess.

The man was wearing jeans and a leather motorcycle jacket. A younger Nick Wolfe would have seen something incongruous in the modern attire and centuries-old sword; this one did not.

The stranger took another step toward him. "So you're Nick Wolfe." His voice was hoarse, raspy. As he spoke, he put a hand to his throat and grimaced.

"The one and only," Nick said easily. "May I ask who you are?"

"Sorry, I can't tell you. There are many things I'm not at liberty to tell you."

Nick also moved closer. "I don't think you can hurt me with that sword. I'm dead already, or so close to it as makes no difference.

"Maybe you're trying to keep me out of Paradise? I really hope you don't want to be taken for the Archangel Michael. I don't believe in angels."

"Let you in on a secret." The swordsman flashed a startlingly boyish grin. "Neither do I."

Nick studied him. A young-old face...could it be that of a very young man, aged by hardship and suffering? Hair cropped so close its color defied description...in Nick's experience, young men sometimes wore it that short to suppress the natural curl. To make themselves look older.

He glanced down at the hand resting on the throat - and gasped.

The hand was unexceptional. But it only partially concealed an ugly white scar, that appeared to circle the neck.

"I see you've noticed," the swordsman said wryly.

"You're...an Immortal. _Were_ an Immortal. You died by beheading."

"Give the man a cigar." As always, he flinched slightly when he spoke.

"I don't understand." Nick struggled to put the problem into words. "My body was smashed in a fall, and back in the physical world, I was in agony. Here, I'm well and whole. I haven't looked under my clothes... I wouldn't have scars, because all the bleeding seemed to be internal, but I don't feel as though I have bruises.

"So why is your neck scarred? Why does it hurt you to talk?"

The Immortal closed his eyes for a moment, gathering the strength to reply. His drawn face was almost as white as his scar. "There are powerful forces - evil forces - pulling at me. Trying to wear me down, make me give up and let go of my identity. If that happens, I'll dissolve into the mist...maybe drift into a new incarnation."

"Would that be so bad?"

"Ordinarily, no. But in this case, yes." He swayed, apparently close to fainting from the effort of forcing words out of his mangled throat. "I'm trying to prevent...a terrible calamity. And I need help. _Your_ help."

Nick felt a rush of adrenalin. _I judged this world too quickly. It __**is **__a place where I can have adventures, help others! And it won't be an illusion. This Immortal may be dead, but he's as real a person as I am._

Aloud, he said, "I'm your man."

The Immortal managed a faint smile. "Don't speak too quickly." He tottered, seemed about to fall. But when Nick moved instinctively to support him, he let out a yelp and stumbled backward. "No! Don't touch me...or my sword. There could be...consequences you wouldn't want."

"All right." Sobered, Nick suggested, "Why don't we conjure up some rocks and sit down? Then you could tell me more."

That idea won him another smile.

But when they were seated, the Immortal admitted, "I can't tell you much. I wouldn't be allowed to.

"In a nutshell, this is what I need you to do. Go back to earth, resume your life, take a message back for me -"

_"What?"_ Nick was on his feet, and it was his turn to back away. His heart was pounding. "I...I can't go back there. I'm dead."

"At this point, you can still choose to go back."

So he _wasn't_ quite dead.

In a perverse way, he was glad. He had absolutely no intention of returning to that shattered body. But he knew, with the trust born of love, that his body was not in a hospital intensive-care unit. It was still on the ground where he'd fallen, Amanda still loyally waiting for nature to take its course.

And if he had a tenuous link with his body, _she_ was still very close...

He only allowed himself a moment to savor that knowledge. Then it was back to the issue at hand, to an illusion-world suddenly become all too real.

"I'm not going back. I'm sorry, but that's too much to ask."

"Will you...at least hear me out?" Unshed tears glittered in the other man's eyes. "I've been waiting so long, trying to persuade someone to do this..." His voice was little better than a croak, but he wouldn't give up. "Either they won't go back, or they forget the message. You're my best hope. Possibly my last hope."

"Yes, I'll listen. But I won't go back." _Maybe I can find some other way of helping, short of doing what he says he wants._

"Thank you." The warm smile told Nick he could have liked this man very much, if they'd had a chance for a normal friendship.

"There's a titanic struggle going on," the Immortal continued. "Between the forces of good and evil. But only a few humans know about it. And they wrongly believe it's all over - that the good guys have won!

"Actually, what took place was only one skirmish, not the war. There's still horrible danger - worse, if these humans are caught off guard. It won't be over till the turn of the millennium. And that's at the end of 2000, not 1999."

"I know." Nick didn't want to believe any of this. But the burning eyes, the ragged voice, held him in thrall.

"They have to be warned."

"I can't do it. You can't picture the state my body is in. If I went back, I'd probably be hospitalized - bedridden - for a year or more! I wouldn't even be able to _find_ these people."

The Immortal hung his head. "Nick, there's very little I'm allowed to tell you. But I think I can say this much." He looked up. The tears were trickling down his cheeks now. "If you go back, and if you remember, you _will_ tell the right people. And you yourself will play a part in the battles to come. A big part."

"That's impossible! I'll be a helpless cripple..."

But even as he spoke, he realized it wasn't impossible.

_Oh, no. Those computer skills I was so proud of..._

He wished now he didn't have them.

But he did. However much pain he'd be in, it _was_ possible that he could make a contribution.

And the Immortal had seen in his eyes that he knew it.

He pressed his advantage. "There's one more thing. Obviously, I can't go back myself, or I would. But if the forces of good win in the end, I _will_ be able to go back."

Nick puzzled over that. "You mean you'll be free to move on to a new incarnation?"

"No. I'll be restored to my old life, my Immortal life, exactly as I was.

"Nick, that means a lot to me. I was only twenty-two. I want my life back, regardless of how you feel about yours. But, more important...knowing it's possible will mean the world to someone back on earth. It may change everything."

Nick got to his feet and began pacing. _If I go back, I'll never walk like this again. The pain will be well-nigh unbearable. And I __**won't**__ be as mobile as Joe Dawson!_

He spun around, fired off a question. "What's this 'if I remember' business?"

The answer came slowly, reluctantly. "Some people can never remember experiences they had on this side. That's beyond our control. No way to predict it, no way to influence it."

Nick let out a string of oaths.

The Immortal said bleakly, "I second all that."

Nick's face must have looked like a thundercloud, for he added, "I can't force you to do anything, Nick. It's your decision. If you turn me down, you'll be really and truly dead, and I'll never bother you again."

Nick resumed pacing. _Why did I become a cop? Let myself get suckered into feeling responsible for the community?_

_I'm not a cop now. In my best breaking-into-castles outfit, I look more like a cat burglar. Maybe that's what I should have been in the first place._

_Why do I feel like a uniformed cop who's trying to turn his back on a lost kid?_

He sat down beside the Immortal.

"Do you understand what you want me to do?" he asked quietly. "I don't know where we are now - heaven, limbo, none of the above. I don't know what's in store for me if I stay here. Reincarnation, an eternity of rock-climbing, or something else altogether.

"I can take any of that. But you're asking me to commit myself to hell. With a real chance I won't remember why I did it."

This time the other man responded without hesitation, just as quietly. "I'm also asking you to _try to save the world_. That's what may be at stake."

Nick gave a long sigh. Closed his eyes. _Cop to the world. That's what I am, always will be._

_Just a few more pain-free moments. A few more... Oh God, why me?_

He opened his eyes. _Best to get it over with._ "All right," he said softly.

"All right? You _will?_" Not daring to believe.

"Yes. How do I get back?"

The Immortal was weeping freely now, but smiling through his tears. "_Now_ you can touch me. Take my hand, put your other hand on my sword-hilt, and the strength of our combined wills should send you back."

Nick gripped the proffered hand. Then the sword-hilt. _Strange, it feels so natural..._

The Immortal looked deep into his eyes. "Thank you, my friend. Try to remember me. Till we meet again!"

x

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**V**

8:00 a.m.

Amy prayed silently as a now dry-eyed Amanda folded Nick's arms across his chest, kissed his bruised forehead, and got to her feet. Muttering, "I still don't understand this..."

"Can I call someone now?" Amy found herself whispering, out of respect for the dead. "To help us move the body?"

"I'll call." Amanda was thinking clearly again. "But not Myers, not the Watchers. I want Liam."

_Of course. An Immortal, and a priest._ "He'll be perfect. Does he know about the Watchers?"

Amanda almost smiled. "I've never promised to keep their existence secret. So, yes, every Immortal who's a friend of mine knows about them."

"That's okay." Amy squeezed her hand. "I'm actually relieved. Couldn't imagine how else we'd explain my being here."

Her eyes were on Amanda as the Immortal fished the phone out of her pocket and began entering digits. They had both turned away from the body.

Amy almost jumped out of her skin when a confused male voice behind her said, "Amanda...?"

x

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Amanda dropped the phone, and they both spun around.

Nick Wolfe was sitting up, brushing himself off. Looking thoroughly perplexed.

Amy noticed there was no bruise on his forehead.

Nevertheless, he put a hand to his head. "Whew. Strange feeling. Not dizzy exactly, but -"

Whatever else he might have said was drowned out by Amanda's whoop of joy. She fell on top of him, smothering him with kisses.

Nick responded enthusiastically.

Amy, suddenly weak-kneed, sat down - hard - in the dew-soaked grass. _No one will believe my report. I've seen all this, and __**I**__ don't believe it._

After about two minutes of kissing and embracing, Nick pushed Amanda away, held her at arm's length. "I don't understand. I know I was almost dead. Now there's no pain, no pain at all..."

His change of expression told Amy he'd found the answer to his own question.

He jumped up, scooping Amanda up in his arms. Then he unceremoniously dropped her on her fanny. "You lied to me!"

"I had good reason!" Her eyes blazed with righteous indignation. "Did you pull this stunt to get back at me?"

"Stunt? What stunt?"

"Look around! Have you noticed it's broad daylight? You were dead for _six hours!_ It never takes that long. I thought I'd l-lost you, and I w-w-wanted to die myself..." She broke down in tears.

"Amanda, I don't know what happened. I swear I didn't do it on purpose!" A moment later he was down on the grass again, kissing her tears away.

Suddenly feeling like an intruder, Amy decided it was time to go sit in her car.

x

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By noon the three of them, plus Father Liam, were finishing brunch in Amy's apartment. Sensing she and Amanda were beginning a friendship as close as her father's with Duncan MacLeod, Amy had offered to prepare the meal. Let the Immortals have that much more time to talk.

Amanda had told her, somewhat apologetically, that she'd lied to Joe about Nick. "I trusted _him_," she explained. "But I was afraid he'd put it in a computer file - to be sealed till after his death, or the year 2050 or whatever - and some other Watcher would hack into it."

Grinning, Amy had admitted that might well have happened. She didn't let on that she herself would have been the most likely culprit.

Now, as they all sipped their coffee, Liam said thoughtfully, "Most deaths we see are from a single bullet wound. I suppose, with all the bones Nick must have broken, it could have taken six hours for his body to repair itself."

Amanda shook her head vehemently. "I don't buy it. I'm twelve hundred years old, and I've never heard of a case like his."

Nick was frowning. "You refuse to take this seriously, but I'm sure I didn't imagine it. I experienced..._something_ on the other side.

"I had a choice, to be permanently dead or come back. Of course, I thought the 'coming back' part meant that I wasn't dead yet, just having a near-death experience. But I had the choice, and I chose to come back, believing I'd be severely disabled. I can't understand why I did that."

"You never had a choice," Amanda insisted. "You're remembering some kind of dream. You _were_ dead, but as a new Immortal, you had no choice about coming back!"

"You're wrong," Nick said firmly. "I can't explain it, but I'm sure you're wrong."

They all lapsed into frustrated silence. After a few minutes, Nick said, "What if I hadn't died? As a pre-Immortal, could I have been as seriously disabled as in that nightmare I had?"

Amanda met his eyes, then reluctantly nodded. "Yes. I told you quite a few lies about pre-Immortals, to convince you that you weren't one.

"But if you actually had wound up like that, most of the damage would have been reversed at your first death."

"Only 'most'?"

"This won't sound logical," she elaborated, "but it's the way things are. We're especially vulnerable to cutting-type injuries. The only injuries that can permanently affect a full Immortal are cuts on the neck or throat, and amputation of the extremities.

"With pre-Immortals, only cuts - of whatever kind - aren't repaired at the first death. In the situation you're talking about, your bones would have been restored, as if they'd never been broken. That lung that was probably punctured would have been restored, too. But you still would have had scars from any surgical incisions."

Amy devoutly hoped she'd remember all this. _If only I'd been wearing a wire..._

Liam said, "That nightmare bothers me. From what you've told us, it was way too detailed to be fantasy. But why would God send you a warning like that, and not also let you know you were a pre-Immortal? Why give you so much information, and not all?

"Remember, since no x-rays were taken, we don't really know how badly you were hurt. Badly enough to die without medical attention, yes. But with it? The nightmare may have been a true vision, or it may not.

"There's that oddity. And your belief that you had final death as an option. And your mysteriously deciding to come back - after _six hours_ - to what you thought was a ruined life you'd already rejected." He shook his head, exasperated. "I think it's all tied together, but I can't figure out what it means."

Nick said slowly, "It's almost as if..." His voice trailed off. He clearly didn't like what he was thinking. But after a few swallows of coffee, he began again.

"Suppose some _evil_ Power sent me the nightmare, to...to...tempt me to give up on life. And doing that would have cost me my Immortality, if I had not, for some reason, come back - as I thought - to face what I'd evaded."

That theory met with shocked silence.

Until Amy, who hadn't meant to get involved, heard herself pick up and continue Nick's train of thought. "If you didn't know your Immortality was at stake, you would have needed a good reason to come back. Like, maybe, to help someone else?"

Suddenly the center of attention, she felt herself turning beet-red. But all three Immortals were nodding in agreement.

Her idea made sense.

Unfortunately, it led nowhere.

Liam finally changed the subject. "Another problem, Amanda. Nick's going to need a teacher."

"You mean for swordfighting?" Nick's face brightened. He turned to Amanda. "You can teach me, can't you?"

"The rudiments, yes. But I'm not the ideal teacher for you. Different weight, different build - you'll need a different type sword than I use, a completely different style. I don't have your strength, you don't have my acrobatic ability."

"Liam, then?" He looked hopefully at the priest, but Liam was shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, Nick. My pacifism would get in the way. I've tried, with others. I really wanted to help them learn to defend themselves, but I was so inhibited, I couldn't."

Amanda's dark eyes were troubled. "Nick, this is the reason I was almost desperate to keep you from becoming Immortal right now. It's a very bad time.

"That's why I told so many lies. I was afraid that if you guessed, you'd want to become Immortal - take foolish risks, maybe even kill yourself.

"And when you were so badly injured, I still wanted to keep you alive. Ten more years - at least five! I couldn't refuse to carry out your wishes. But right up to the time you went into a coma, I was hoping you'd change your mind. That's why I didn't give you the comfort, even then, of telling you about your Immortality." She was blinking back tears. "Can you forgive me?"

"Nothing to forgive." He squeezed her hand, then impulsively kissed it. "I know you were only thinking of my well-being. But why is this such a bad time? Why would five years make a difference?"

Amy had been wondering that, too.

"It's a long story," Amanda said glumly. "No need to go into all of it now.

"But I have this friend... Okay, he's been my lover, off and on, but that wouldn't be a problem. He's the best swordsman alive, Nick, and not too different from you in weight or build. An Immortal, of course. Duncan MacLeod."

Amy had known that was coming. And now, remembering snippets of recent information, she began to see the problem.

But she was taken by surprise when Amanda suddenly turned to her. "Could I dip into your Watcher file, Amy, and let Nick see a picture of Mac?"

_What have I started here?_

But she couldn't think of a reason to refuse. Five minutes later they were clustered around her computer screen, looking at a file photo of Duncan MacLeod.

"He'd be the perfect teacher for you," Amanda told Nick. "He even owes me one - I took on a female student as a favor to him a few years ago."

"So what's the problem, if it's not your love life?" Nick was mystified.

"The problem is that he's not emotionally able to teach anyone right now, probably won't be for years. He had a tragic experience with his last student, Richie Ryan. One of his closest friends - mine, too.

"There's no easy way to say this. Mac...accidentally killed him."

_"What?_ How can one Immortal _accidentally_ behead another?"

"He thought he was battling a demon! And crazy as it sounds, there really _was_ a demon. But the demon tricked him into killing Richie."

She leaned forward and began clicking the mouse. "Here's a picture of Richie. You can see how young he was -"

"Wait a minute!" Nick stared at the screen, white-faced. "Oh, my God."

"What is it?" All eyes were on him now.

He took a deep breath. "Amanda, do you know how to reach Duncan MacLeod?"

"Yes, of course."

"Call him. I have a lot to tell him. I think when he hears it, he _will_ take me on as a student. But that may be the least of our concerns."

He turned to the young Watcher, as startled as everyone else by his outburst. "Amy...you were right. I did come back to this world to help someone else.

"And now, thank God, I know who it was. _I have a message for Duncan MacLeod from Richie Ryan_."

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The End


End file.
